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Rion turned around and stalked toward a male who’d served beneath him for two years. He’d been the longest though time had never stopped others. If a father could attempt to murder his son, a soldier could just as easily turn on his general.

“Maher.”

“Sir?”

Rion handed the logs to him. “See to it everything is taken care of.”

Maher bowed his head. “Consider it done.”

Rion broke into a sprint and everyone in the immediate vicinity jumped back, clearing a wide berth. He smirked, but the fear he’d once relished in no longer held much sway, not when a certain female kept invading his thoughts.

He didn’t understand the need to be near her. Or the feelings that had emerged when his body was on top of hers. Nor the way she’d seemed to welcome it.

It was a trick. It had to be. She was a daughter of Móirín, kept from home for far too long. Perhaps she thought her only way out was to get close to him and take his life. She’d likely be regarded as a hero.

The memory of her warmth returned. She’d been so close. So willing.

Rion clenched his jaw. Never again. He’d never let himself be that vulnerable again. He’d already sworn it in his late teens, back when a commander had assigned a female to assassinate him in the exact same manner.

His legs pounded against the ground and he flew across the meadow faster than most Fae were capable. Thankfully, their entourage wasn’t too far out, and he found himself entering camp within a few hours.

The warriors stationed at the gate stood to attention, their gaze fixated on the trees now behind him. Fear stung his delicate senses, but Rion chose to ignore it today, his only goal the small cabin near the rear of their camp.

The wind carried her scent toward him. She’d been outside today, likely gathering firewood. The pile had been running low when he left.

The males surrounding his cabin fled at his presence, moving farther away than they usually did. He eyed the wood pile set beside the door, puzzling over them before twisting the doorknob.

Her scent weakened.

Rion took one step inside the cabin and stepped right back out. A growl rumbled deep in his chest and every Fae within hearing distance outright fled.

They’d let her escape. His anger bubbled over, but Rion spun on his heel and headed east.

He’d deal with them later.

He cursed. Of course, she’d head to the river. She was from Móirín after all. The water would give her an advantage over all of them. She could disguise her scent and travel, using the river as a means for escape.

Rion clenched his fists.

It was always the same. Always, it didn’t matter if they were Fae or human. They’d fear him, convince him of their sincerity, then stab him in the back. Sometimes literally.

He knew better than to trust anyone.

The earth circled his body, reacting with the anger pouring from him. It twitched in agitated spirals as he stomped through the forest, rising up to hover above his head like a dark cloud. He didn’t care. Let her know he was coming, let her—

Rion halted, the scent of her magic so strong he could have sworn she was standing directly beside him. He listened, settled his magic to locate the source, and growled when he found it.

She was still by the river, but as he stormed toward it, he caught sight of her doing the last thing he expected.

Arianna, in all her glory, stood in ankle-deep water, twisting and gliding as if she were one with the river. The water rippled with each step she took, and she moved with such fluidity that she barely disturbed its surface.

She pulled an orb of water apart, surrounding herself with tiny spheres of liquid before crouching and letting them fall. The water crawled up her body again. An elegant dance with the river itself.

Rion let out a slow, calming breath and found himself captivated. He leaned against the nearest tree to watch and relished in the scent that washed over the area each time she lifted and let the water fall.

Arianna hadn’t run.

And he couldn’t understand why.